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Monday, January 23, 2017

Moving is never an easy process, but for those who are
significantly limited by toxic illness, the challenges are magnified
exponentially. How do you even begin to build a life when you’re shut out of
most public places? How do you meet
people? How do you find your tribe, your
support, your place of service and belonging?

My goal has been to get my construction project completed,
and then to turn my attention to trying to answer those questions. One thing I’ve
been doing already, however, is watching as many webcasts as possible from
churches in the area. I need the spiritual nourishment, of course, but I’m also
trying to get a feel for what the church options are on the remote chance that
I can somehow find a way to be connected to one.

This blog post is prompted by a survey I took for an area
church a couple of weeks ago (which was open to guests and to people watching
online) and by the sermon I heard yesterday from another. The theme of both was
connection, and why people aren’t as connected to the church as the leaders
would like them to be.

I don’t remember all the details of the survey. I do remember
that there were questions about church attendance, small group attendance, and
ministry participation. I seem to remember that one or two questions had a
fill-in-the-blank type option, but most were multiple choice.

Completing the survey was exceptionally frustrating. Generally,
the questions were something like “How often do you do x or y, and if it’s not
very often, why not?” The possible
answers rarely fit my circumstances and I don’t remember a single answer that
acknowledged health limitations. The possibilities seemed to generally assume either
a lack of knowledge or a lack of desire.

By far the most frustrating question for me was about
participation in mission projects. None of the possible answers fit at all, so I
finally settled on the last option given: “I don’t know.” That’s a fairly blatant lie. Of course I know
why I don’t participate in mission projects. It’s because at some point in my
life, most probably after I had been appointed as a missionary, and while I was
studying at the Missionary Learning Center, I was infected with Lyme disease
and not diagnosed. It’s because I got sicker and sicker as I served overseas. It’s
because doctors didn’t take me seriously and the toxins overwhelmed my
genetically weak detoxification system to the point that I could eventually no
longer serve as a missionary, no longer enter most public places, including
churches, and no longer participate in mission projects without accommodation,
which people don’t generally seem willing to give. That’s why.

The sermon I heard yesterday, from a very different type of church,
was entirely about small groups. The preacher spent time talking about the
importance of Christian fellowship, then listed the reasons he imagined for
people not participating in small group ministries. The reasons he proposed included
being too busy, fearing vulnerability, and being unwilling to engage with
people different from ourselves. At one point he mentioned “getting in our own
way.” Again there was no acknowledgement
that some of us need some of you to make changes if we’re going to be able to study,
pray, and worship together.

I’m not sure I can explain what these sorts of messages,
which are constant, feel like to those of us who are shut out of the broader church
community. Maybe the spiritual and emotional hunger can be compared to the need
for physical nourishment. Imagine (or remember, if you’ve experienced it) not
having access to a steady source of food for years at a time. You’re constantly
thinking about and looking for options, and you spend a great deal of time and
energy focusing on how to feed yourself enough that you can stay upright
and not pass out. On a regular basis, while hunger pains knot your stomach and
you’re wondering where to find your next meal, well-fed people come and lecture
you about the importance of eating right. “Eating is very important,” they tell
you. “You should really eat more and not sabotage yourself.” They say you should come and eat with them,
but the door to the room that holds the food is locked, and although many
people appear to have a key, you don't. When you mention the problem, you’re
told that unlocking the door would be too difficult, or you’re simply ignored.

It’s hard to be locked out. It’s also hard to be implicitly
blamed for the inability to access longed-for resources. Reading and hearing
church and small group slogans is often hard. When I hear something like “There’s
a place for you,” my automatic mental response is “I seriously doubt it.”

Won’t you consider letting us in? Won’t you consider keeping toxicity in mind
when making decisions about building materials, cleaning and pest control
methods, and personal care products? Please
unlock the door. We’re very hungry.

About Me

My family spent most of the 1990s serving in Peru as missionaries. During our time of service, my health deteriorated to the point that I could no longer continue to live there. Small exposures to a wide range of chemical triggers caused many symptoms, including debilitating pain. The condition is known as MCS (Multiple Chemical Sensitivity). I was also eventually diagnosed with Lyme Disease and mold poisoning.
Part of the missionary task is identifying unreached people groups. After returning to the states and becoming part of the MCS world, I came to see that people with MCS belong in that category. We’re largely unseen, but there are a significant and growing number of us and we’re shut out of most churches and Christian gatherings.
MCS has taught me a lot of lessons about the chemical hazards in common, everyday products and I’d like other people not to have to learn those lessons the hard way, like I did. I’d like Christians to take the issue seriously, both for their own sakes, and the sakes of others who are currently shut out of most churches because of product choices others make. This issue matters greatly to those of us with MCS. I think it matters to God, too.